


Shackled & Freed On New Years Eve

by VinoAmore



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Beyond the Book Nook, Champagne & Countdowns, Champs, F/M, New Years Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13026831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VinoAmore/pseuds/VinoAmore
Summary: Prompt:New years parties are not so fun for this death eater. Especially with the knowledge that a certain captor is shackled in the dungeons below the ball room.Disclaimer -- This piece is part of the Champagne and Countdowns OS Competition 2017 with Beyond the Nook Fanfiction Nook. I had a choice of New Year centric prompts the Admins of the group created. All characters from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. --





	Shackled & Freed On New Years Eve

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [ChampagneandCountdowns](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ChampagneandCountdowns) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
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> New years parties are not so fun for this death eater. Especially with the knowledge that a certain captor is shackled in the dungeons below the ball room.
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> Disclaimer -- This piece is part of the Champagne and Countdowns OS Competition 2017 with Beyond the Nook Fanfiction Nook. I had a choice of New Year centric prompts the Admins of the group created. All characters from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. --

Three months. It had been _three months_ since she last saw Harry and Ron. Hermione had been shackled in a cell, only removed to be tortured or placed under the Cruciatus curse in an effort to obtain information. She was so alone. _No_ _one_ from the Order had even attempted to contact or rescue her.

One evening, she had been so desperate to gain any kind of knowledge on what the Order had planned for her rescue, She had found herself asking Snape if he had heard anything. He sneered down at her, and stormed away after leaving her a piece of stale bread on an old, beat up metal plate. Either he had been keeping up pretenses, or he was truly not on their side. It was useless.

The only one who had displayed even a remote level of kindness was _Antonin_ _Dolohov_ , of all people. Perhaps the decision she had made all those months ago had spared her now. She thought about that moment over and over again for the past year; she would never forget it. The fear and torment she had felt for a year with him as the star of her nightmares came bubbling to the surface. She could feel the rage pulsing through her entire body; it filtered through to her fingertips - ready to explode. With her wand aimed and hands steady, she was ready to strike him down for good - ready to take him out, so he would no longer be able to torture or kill anyone like he had before.

Then Hermione had caught sight of his dark eyes, something inside caused her to pause for a slight moment. For the first time, she looked beyond all the pretenses of his mask of terror. She saw a man who was someone's son; she saw a person who possibly had siblings and a family who loved him. Antonin Dolohov, in that brief moment, wasn't a terrifying Death Eater; he was a man with fears, and possibly had hopes of surviving this heinous war - just like herself, Harry, and everyone else she knew and loved. For the first time since that fateful night in the Department of Mysteries, Antonin Dolohov was a person with a story.

Making a split second decision as she held his life in the palm of her hands; she’d chosen to _spare_ him. Ever since the day she had been taken captive, she’d thought about that moment more and more.

Hermione rested her head on the cinder block wall as she watched a trickle of water leak in through the cracks. Her mind drifted as she watched the water seep slowly onto her empty metal plate, her stomach growling; it reminded her how _desperately_ hungry she was. She couldn't complain too much, though. Something had certainly changed within the first couple weeks of her being incarcerated; especially when she began noticing larger pieces of fresh bread in place of the usual stale bread. She didn't know what it was, but she was grateful for it, nonetheless.

From what she’d learned, there was someone called a ‘gatekeeper’. This person was in charge of all the holding cells and its occupants. The other Death Eaters coming and going had to adhere to their orders. Apparently, whoever it was had ordered her untouched, much to her great relief. The last thing she wanted was to be violated by these evil men. Antonin had even cast cleansing charms on her whenever she slept. She was barely awake one night when she heard him enter her cell, and clean her with the charms himself. She had wondered if Antonin was possibly the gatekeeper; of course, she didn't know for sure. For all she knew, it could be Snape. Regardless of who it was, though; it didn't go unnoticed by her no other prisoner received such treatment.

A stirring of noise above her caused her mind to drift to the holiday. Tonight was New Year's Eve and she had heard many of the Death Eaters talking about the party they were to have. As it was, Hermione was destined to start a new year in shackles on a filthy cell floor while starving. All the hope she had originally started out with had slowly dwindled to a shadow of what it once had been.

Hermione sat on the cold floor, her knees bent up so she could rest her head on them. Her back hurt from sleeping on the cement floor for such a long time. The shackles at her ankles made for awkward sleeping positions, as well. She had no human contact outside of being harshly manhandled while dragged from her cell. Her eyes had shed every tear she could ever produce. There was nothing left in her. Hearing the party begin above her, she wondered if tonight would be the night someone tried to free her.

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Antonin walked to his closet and pulled out his chosen dress robes. They were all expected to attend the New Year's Eve party; so, an appearance was mandatory. He also was expected to patrol the cells tonight. Being the gatekeeper for the cells and their occupants meant, on a night like this, the responsibility fell solely on him; not that he cared much about forsaking a party to see to his duties. There was one prisoner, in particular, he always made sure to check on. Hermione Granger had been haunting his memories, and plaguing his thoughts for nearly a year. Ever since that fateful night in the corridors of Hogwarts. He looked himself over in the mirror before exiting his rooms and walked to the ballroom.

This intriguing witch captivated his attention when he went with them to infiltrate the school. She was a better dueler than she had been the first time around. He was amazed at her improved skill in such a short time, and with no official training, no less. Hearing about the secret army the students had started a year ago, Antonin found himself impressed they had actually trained themselves, and rather well. She had been quite a force to be reckoned with - even against the likes of him.

Something in him shifted that night at the battle, and no matter how hard he tried, Antonin couldn't get Hermione Granger out of his mind.

When he stepped into the ballroom, he noticed that everyone was dressed to dazzle. Champagne was flowing like a river and the chandeliers made the entire room sparkle like a diamond in the sun. There wasn't a Death Eater in the room who didn't have two females hanging all over him. The ones who preferred the company of other wizards seemed to have already exited the party. No doubt they would be back by midnight with their pets.

As soon as he walked in, he was greeted by a witch who was quite obviously intoxicated. It was still two hours away from midnight for Merlin's sake. He sneered and pushed her away. She stumbled back, and fell into Adrian Pucey - who was currently feeling up another witch, and was more than happy to invite her into the mix.

The whole sight disgusted him. There had only been one witch on his mind for months. She was shackled in the holding cell in the lower level of the Manor. Ever since the battle on the Astronomy tower, he couldn't get Potter's Mudblood off his mind. He cringed at the very thought. He didn’t want anyone to think of her as _Potter’s_ anymore.To say he was shocked to see her during the battle to take Hogwarts was an understatement. The curse he used on her during their confrontation in the Department of Mysteries should have destroyed her. Yet, she had survived. No doubt in part to the silencing charm she threw at him. He poured himself a glass of Wizard’s Bourbon and silently thanked Merlin for the American witch who had invented it. He sipped on his drink as his thoughts drifted back to the prisoner in shackles.

When he had come back from a mission a few months ago and found one of the prisoners captured was Hermione, he had gone out of his way to protect her where he could. Although, she had no idea it was him protecting her. He went to great lengths to seem inconspicuous about changing her meals to larger pieces of fresh bread. If he fed her anymore, it would be suspicious. When he saw her during his evening patrols, he would cast a cleansing charm on her if she was asleep. He felt he owed her.

Although, he couldn't explain why; he was a _Death_ _Eater_ , for Merlin's sake. He didn't owe anyone anything. He once found it thrilling - the anticipation of a kill - the power that surged through his veins as he held a life in the palm of his hand. The fear in the victim's eyes is what he used to love the most. He was careful to never look beyond their fear. Once he did, the hated victim became a person, a human, an individual with a story. Even most Death Eaters would have a difficult time killing someone they viewed as an individual beyond their labels; perhaps not _all_ , but _most_ , from what he knew of them. So, he never allowed himself to look past their labels; he viewed them as blood-traitors, half-bloods, mudbloods, and lesser than human, muggles. If he never looked past the fear, he never saw the person.

But that night, everything changed with a split-second decision _she_ made that affected _him_ greatly. More so than he would have ever imagined. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but he would never forget it, he would probably never understand it either. He saw the look in her eyes when they were dueling; they had darkened with an intense rage - a look he knew all too well. Then his attention was distracted for the slightest moment; so brief, it shouldn't have mattered. When he looked back, he saw her whiskey brown eyes had lost all the rage as he felt the stinging hex. He didn't doubt for a moment that had it been anyone else, he'd be dead. He needed to know - to ask her.

He cringed when he heard a familiar cackle, and turned his attention toward the door. He turned his head when the Dark Lord entered the ballroom. Bellatrix was practically hanging off him. Rodolphus, who was clearly enjoying the attentions of another witch, followed closely behind.

“Please, my Lord, let me have a little bit of fun tonight. Just the Mudblood. Let me have the Mudblood, I promise I won’t _kill_ her,” Bellatrix purred as she attempted to caress his pale snake-like face as they walked through the crowd. Voldemort hissed in apparent disgust at her display and shrugged her off; which caused her to trip over her own feet, and tumble onto the floor. Everyone was so intoxicated that most didn't notice the scene. Those that did, simply turned their attention back to whatever was occupying them before.

“We've discussed this Bella - there will be none of that tonight. This is not the kind of party to be engaging in such activities. Leave my sight immediately. And if I find out you have gone against my wishes, rest assured, whatever you inflict upon the Mudblood will be done to you - only worse,” Voldemort hissed at her. The rage was evident in his evil, red eyes as he stalked off to speak with the Bulgarian Ambassador.

Bellatrix fumbled to stand, and adjusted her corset. She paid no mind to Antonin, who witnessed the whole thing. She stormed out of the room in a fit of fury. He had a feeling he knew exactly where she was going. He wasn't about to let her hurt Hermione. He took a large napkin, filled it with some food, then carefully wrapped it and placed it in his pocket. He took an empty glass, as well. He stayed far enough behind to go unnoticed by the demented witch. The last thing he wanted on New Year's Eve was to be caught in a duel; especially when his Lord specifically forbade it.

He followed Bellatrix, who was going down to the holding cells, as he had suspected. She had already entered Hermione’s cell and he could hear Bella taunting her. He heard the brutal sound of skin colliding with skin, then again. He knew Bellatrix was hitting her and he couldn't move fast enough. He didn't want to run, that would look obvious. As he approached the cell he saw Hermione with blood trickling down her chin from a nasty split lip. He quietly stalked up behind Bella before she could recognize his presence and grabbed her wand from her grasp.

“I know you don't plan to defy our Lord's direct orders, Bella,” he said in a warning tone, his Russian accent evident as he twirled her wand through his fingers.

“Give me back my wand! How _dare_ you! What's it to you anyway, Antonin? She's just a dirty, little Mudblood,” she sneered at Hermione, then slowly turned her head back to Antonin, and smiled slyly. Her half-toothless grin was cringe-worthy, at best. “Unless, of course, you have a little crush. Want a taste of the filthy Mudblood, do you?” She taunted him, and moved ratted hair away from her crazed, hate-filled eyes as she circled him causing him to turn his back to Hermione.

Hermione sat, and stared at them both - fear evident in her eyes at what could potentially be her last New Year's Eve. Antonin knew he would kill this deranged witch before he allowed anything to happen to Hermione; but, to keep up appearances, he had remained the epitome of indifference.

“Don't be ridiculous Bella; what do I care about a prisoner? However, there are diplomats here right now. My only concern is starting a new year in our Lord's _good_ graces, instead of his _wrath_. I need to patrol the cells, and watch the prisoners for the duration of the party. You should go up, and enjoy yourself. I believe the Bulgarian Ambassador is speaking with our Lord now,” he stood with his hand on his wand, ready to fight if he had to.

Bellatrix moved slightly closer to him, and ran a finger down the lapel of his black robes. “You're so intimidating when you take control. I like the darkness in you Dolohov. I always have,” she purred, licking her lips. She attempted a seductive smile, which only displayed her remaining rotting teeth. Merlin, she was truly a disgusting sight to behold. Without breaking eye contact, he reached up to his chest, and removed her hand from his person all while maintaining his mask of indifference.

“Go back up to the party Bellatrix. There is plenty of fun to be had upstairs. Enjoy the festivities,” he said.

“You're no fun,” Bellatrix said with a sneer. As she snatched her wand from him, turned on her heels, and stormed up the stairs to the party. He stood there, motionless until he no longer heard her shoes clacking against the floor.

Antonin heard the shackles behind him move slightly. He turned, and watched as Hermione slid herself further back into the wall she was leaning on for support. His heart clenched in his chest at the sight of her. Pale and fragile from the months of torture, incarceration, and malnutrition. Was she afraid of him? Of course she was afraid; he had tried to kill her twice. She had no idea he was there to protect her.

He slowly walked closer and watched her eyes narrow in defiance as she looked him in the eye. Her chin jut out and her nostrils flared. He chuckled at her, and sat down next to her on the floor. He rested his elbows on his bent knees, and turned his head to look at her.

“You don't have to worry, malen'kiy l’vista. I'm not here to harm you. I came to make sure you weren't hurt. Let me see this,” he gently grasped her chin and waved his wand to heal the gash on her lip and clean the blood from her face.

Hermione was momentarily shocked by his gentle touch and care of her. Quickly overcoming it, she shook her head free from his warm, calloused hands. “Why do _you_ care if I'm hurt? I have a particularly ugly scar to prove you don't care whether I live or die. In fact, you probably _prefer_ me dead,” she spat in response.

Antonin paid no mind to her tone. Instead, he reached into his robes to remove the large napkin he had filled with bread, cheese, and strawberries for her to eat.

“I didn't know what you would like; so, I just put a few things in there I would like,” he said as he removed the glass. He cast a scourgify on it before pointing his wand, and casting an aguamenti to fill the glass for her. “You're wrong, malen'kaya l'vitsa. I do care whether you live or die,” pausing, he held up the glass for her to take. He looked her in the eye and said, “I’d much prefer you to live.”

Hermione's eyes went wide as she cautiously accepted the napkin of food and the cup of water. She couldn't remember the last time she had so much food in front of her. She knew to take her time, due to her malnutrition- it wouldn’t do to have everything come right back up. But, at the moment, all she cared about was eating something delicious.

“Thank you. I love strawberries. They're my favorite,” Hermione said as she glanced at him, then took a strawberry, and brought it to her mouth. She let out a little involuntary moan when she took the first bite.

Antonin ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration. He couldn't take it any longer. He had to know. It had been eating away at him. “Ya ne mogu eto sdelat' bol'she! Why did you let me live!? Why did you not kill me when you had the opportunity? You have every reason in the world to hate me, yet you spared my life. Why?”

Hermione's eyes showed her evident surprise at the question. She hadn't been expecting it. The memory was frequently fresh in her mind. The battle at the Astronomy tower - she had the chance to kill him. They were dueling and he had been distracted by something Rookwood yelled in his direction. It had caused him to turn his attention for a slight moment. She had the opportunity right then and there to take the shot that would ultimately end him. Instead, she had sent a harmless stinging hex right to his chest, which had brought his attention back to the duel.

It was a moment she couldn't explain. “I honestly don't know,” she responded quietly as she focused on her dinner. She brought her head up as she continued, “All I can tell you is, I looked into your eyes and I had no desire to harm you.”

Antonin was at a loss for words. “You looked into my eyes and that's why you couldn't bring yourself to kill me? Your reasoning doesn't make any sense,” This witch had no reason to spare him.

She looked up at him and her whiskey brown eyes met his deep mahogany. “Yes, something in your eyes. I can't explain it; and, quite honestly, I don't know why. You've tried to kill me more than once,” she paused, and looked down at the bread. She broke off a piece before continuing. “I have every reason to kill you - to want you dead, but I just couldn't. I don't quite know how to explain it, but I was ready to kill you, the curse was there at the tip of my tongue.” She looked up, meeting his eyes once more. “Then for a brief moment, I saw past your mask. I saw a man, not a Death Eater. I couldn't bring myself to take your life.”

He searched her eyes and couldn't help his action as he gently rested his hand on her cheek. He was dumbfounded, he had never known someone who had such goodness in their heart. If anyone deserved to die for their crimes it was him. Yet she saw fit to spare him, a mercy he had never shown.

She involuntarily leaned into his warm touch slightly; it felt nice to have someone touch her so gently after months of harsh solitude.

“Thank you, Hermione Granger. Malen’kaya L’vista,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“What does that mean?” she asked curiously.

Antonin gave a small smile. “I'm going to save that knowledge. I’ll tell you one day, when we're together and you're not shackled in a cell.”

“Are you quite sure that day will ever come?” she asked with hope emanating from her bright eyes at the thought of being free of this place, and free of the war.

“I will do everything in my power to make sure that day comes, moya malen'kaya l'vitsa. I will do everything I can to protect you while you're here, and see to it you escape safely. This doesn't mean I can always prevent bad things from happening, though - as much as I may want to; but you must promise me something,” he paused as he searched her face.

“What is it you want me to promise? Promises can be a fickle thing in the midst of war,” she replied with a shake of her head, and a furrow of her brows.

He smirked at her slightly, and nodded his head. “Indeed, they can be. But I have faith you can keep this one. Promise me you will _never_ give up. Promise me you will _never_ stop fighting to survive. I can't protect someone who has given up on themselves.”

She looked down, and hesitantly took his hand to intertwine their fingers together; then, she looked back up to meet his eyes. “I promise you: I'll always keep fighting to survive. No matter what happens - I'll _never_ give up.”

They sat there for a few moments as she finished her dinner. At midnight, they heard the shouts of a New Year ringing above them. Antonin leaned in, and softly kissed her forehead. She instinctively let out a small, involuntary gasp at the intimate gesture, but still found herself leaning into the gentle kiss.

“Happy New Year, Hermione Granger,” he said as he pulled back.

“Happy New Year, Antonin Dolohov.”

Neither truly understood why she had allowed him to live, but they both sat there together in silence as a new year began. He couldn't have hoped for a better way to start the new year than next to the one witch he couldn't stop thinking of; the one woman he knew would be the reason his life was about to change. When she finally fell asleep against the wall, he stood to leave to make another appearance at the party but not before casting a cleansing charm on her. He began plotting her escape, and his part in the demise of the Dark Lord, who would dare shackle _his_ witch to the dirty floor of a cell. His life was decidedly altered by that one fateful decision. He had never been more sure of anything in all his life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
